A/N: Thank you for the comments, I adore reading your thoughts.
"I've got this thorn dug in deeply. Sometimes I can't get it out."
The nest of storage facilities at Pier 11 was clustered on the waterfront. Midnight waves splashed against the iron, barnacle-encrusted boardwalk supports as Robin waited for Slade on one of the flattop roofs.
The canopy of stars was especially beautiful tonight. The patterned constellations hovered over his head and winked playfully down at him. He recognized the bending bow of Sagittarius, its arrow perpetually strung and aimed at Ursa Minor—hunter vs. hunted.
Suddenly disturbed, he stopped stargazing and lowered his chin. He closed his eyes and leaned heavily against a rusted smokestack.
There was the distinct chill of an autumn night pricking at his hair. He could smell rain approaching.
Nevertheless, the fond caress of the sea breeze on his battered cheek did nothing to comfort his troubled heart. Instead of enjoying what little time he had above ground, he longed for the isolation of his prison.
He wanted to crawl under a rock and never be seen again, to fall into a void and be erased from existence. He wanted to stop feeling. He wanted to stop thinking. He just wanted to stop. Every moment he stood here wallowing in freshly cut wounds was agony.
His knuckles still stung from the punches he threw. The blood and sweat on his forehead had not dried. He could remember the feel of his leather and steel clad toes as they plowed into Cyborg's organic jaw. In his mind's eye, he saw himself firing the thermal blaster at Starfire, heard her whimper of pain as she collapsed before him.
He crossed his arms protectively, trying to shield himself against the guilt.
His right hand tingled.
He had struck Raven in the neck with that hand. She had begged him to stop. He could still hear her shrill, psychic pleas.
He had ignored her. He ignored them all.
Monster.
With a guttural growl, he pushed off the smokestack and started pacing. The loose gravel crunched under his haunted stomps.
"Where is he?" he snarled under his breath.
Of course, when Robin actually wanted Slade's presence, the man was nowhere to be seen. A frustrated itch crept up his leg. It was accompanied by a revitalized anger. His paces turned into sprints and morphed into complicated backflips on the rooftop edge—a daring balance beam. He had to do something to distract himself from the anguish.
He couldn't deny that his skills had improved or, at least, sharpened. His feet were as silent as shadows as he leapt and landed. His breath was a notch above nonexistent. The rats below made more noise than he as they scurried and squeaked.
He certainly hadn't acquired any new weight or bulk—Slade's draconian diet saw to that—but he had obtained a masterful control of mind and body that had not been realized until now.
Natural talent and hard work had gotten him the Robin mantle, but Slade's apprenticeship was an "honor" not as easily achieved. It required death—a death of distraction, of emotion, of happiness, of love.
These were seen as necessary sacrifices in service of perfection.
"Good technique…"
Sliding out of the dark like an apparition, Slade had finally decided to show his metallic face. He stood in the shadow of the smokestack. The glimmer of his mask was the only indication of his existence.
"…but not perfect," he critiqued expectedly from the deep dark.
Annoyed, Robin finished his impressive flip and hopped off the ledge. Even after the past month of attuning himself to Slade's behavior, he still couldn't solve the mystery of how the villain managed to sneak up on him like that.
"Having fun?" Slade inquired calmly as the ragged boy wonder approached him.
Robin grumbled something unintelligible. He stared at the ground, scuffing it with his shoe. A gnawing fear was displacing the shame. The bruises on his brow still ached—a reminder of Slade's perilous unpredictability.
"My, my, aren't we dramatic tonight."
Robin shrugged and blew a stray strand of hair out of his face.
"And here I thought you wanted to see the Titans again," Slade mused, cocking his knobbed head. "What happened?" he asked in feign concern.
"Nothing."
"Robin," Slade chided in the same sarcastic tone. "I'm hurt. After all we've been through, you still don't trust me?"
The scornful jab struck true; the paralytic indifference began to thaw as Robin's blood warmed. His brow furrowed in a glare. Slade spoke of the last month of torture as if it were nothing more than a teenager's delusion—a fickle fancy.
Unable to annihilate the target of his desire, Robin settled for a pebble. He swung his leg backward and booted a sizeable piece of gravel. It soared through the air and disappeared over the ledge. The lackluster clink! of it hitting the pavement below was unsatisfying, to say the least, but he got his point across.
Slade's eye narrowed. It sparkled with interest.
"Can we please just go?" Robin snapped, crossing his arms.
Slade jerked in a small fit of shock. The Titan had always managed to defy expectation. That ingenuity is what made him so irresistible; however, Slade had not anticipated Robin to break this cleanly with the outside world so quickly.
"Back to the haunt?" Slade probed, intrigued.
Robin's hidden eyes darted up and back down. He sniffed and wiped his blood-encrusted lip.
"Yes," he said sharply.
Placing his hands behind his back, the villain strode into the faint starlight and glided past Robin, saying no more. Relieved, the boy wonder followed. He longed for the seclusion of his enforced exile. He deserved the cage.
A veiled smirk played on Slade's lips.
Robin was ready for the final lesson.
When Raven awoke, she was back in her room at Titans Tower, wrapped in a bundle of blankets. As she stirred, she could feel the familiar itch and pinch of bandages digging into her back.
Annoyed but whole, she groaned to a sitting position and peered blearily around. She couldn't remember how she got here, but she did recall the why: Robin.
She put a gentle hand to the base of her neck and winced when her fingers grazed the swollen bruise there. She sighed and shook her head. The movement caused other injuries to protest. Everything was stiff and sore and she wondered just how long she'd been unconscious.
Unlike his allegiance, Robin's fighting skill had not changed—unfortunate as that was for Raven and the others.
Her room was cloaked in its usual shadow, making it difficult to tell dusk from dawn. The glittering glass jars and comforting, dusty books bid her a macabre hello. As her limbs returned to life, so too, did pain; even the smallest shift caused the brittle, fresh scabs to crack apart and bleed.
Cocooned as she was, she was hesitant to leave the comfortable swaddle of sheets; however, she had more important things to concern herself with than her own petulant needs.
So, with a sense of duty equivalent to a Roman Stoic, Raven dislodged herself awkwardly from the cushy blankets and readied herself. She was in luck. The day had not yet died; the sun was just beginning its descent into the skyline. She could sense that the rest of the team was awake and troubled. Indeed, Beast Boy's immature frustration was practically palpable.
She sighed aloud—dreading the inevitable fight.
She was dressed in a pair of loose sweats and an oversized, black t-shirt. Her hair was tangled and annoying so she snagged a hairband and tied it back. It was just long enough for such a style, though the subsequent ponytail was quite pathetic.
The aforementioned bandages were wrapped snuggly around her waist and wound up to the lowest rung of her ribcage. She prodded the wounds on her back as gingerly as she could, but she still had to stifle a yelp when her nails skimmed the stinging abrasions.
When she had more strength, she would be able to use her magic to aid the healing process but, at the moment, she was too drained and unfocused for such a task. Not bothering to check a mirror, she limped out the door.
Walking slowly, her apprehension at facing the others turned ever fiercer; the forecast of emotions exploding from the lounge did not bode well. She prepared herself, trying to recall every last detail of the fight with Robin. There was so much, it all blurred together. She wasn't even sure if Robin was aware of how confused he was.
His mind was a warzone of the nuclear variety. Radioactive, poisonous thoughts and feelings bled out of him despite his resolve to keep them contained. He was a Pandora's Box waiting to be opened. A dozen different facets of his personality fought with one another in a seemingly endless cycle.
Honor vs. Responsibility; Self-survival vs. Selflessness; Fear vs. Fury; Resentment vs. Love; Sorrow vs. Will; Emotion v. Apathy—each of these combated in one massive, bloodstained arena.
Raven already had bets on who the winners would be, and the predictions were not good.
Yet, there was something else that the Empath had discovered during her short time in Robin's headspace. It had been one of his clearer feelings, a steady undercurrent running through the chaos.
Now as she approached the Titans—who could be heard yelling from behind the metal door panels—she double-checked her intuitions. She paused and took a steadying breath, ignoring the complaints of her road-rash skin.
"…it's over, Star!" Cyborg suddenly boomed. His cry was followed by a high-pitched affirmation from Beast Boy.
Raven took this as her cue to enter.
The scene was as she expected.
Starfire stood alone, profiled against the large monitor screen, her hands outstretched diplomatically. She faced Beast Boy and Cyborg, whose faces were a mixture of disbelief, annoyance, and anger. They mirrored one another—arms crossed, stricken glares, and hunched, unbending shoulders. Each of these mannerisms spoke to their already stubborn prejudices.
When the panels clicked open, the three Titans stopped their heated discussion and simultaneously flicked their heads in Raven's direction. Upon seeing her, Starfire immediately floated over, her expression switched from despair to worry.
"Friend Raven, I am so gladdened to see that you are awake!" she exclaimed. "What is your status? Are you damaged?"
"I'm fine," Raven responded shortly and then, after seeing Starfire's hurt reaction: "…thanks."
It was a bit curter than she would have liked, but her mind was already centered upon the boys. Persuading them was going to be difficult…and she was grumpy. It was not a pleasant combination.
"Oh, well, that is fortunate…" Starfire stuttered as Raven hobbled past her.
The boys did not greet the Empath as warmly. They had plastered on concerned faces, trying to fool her, while their feelings remained mired in bitterness. Their stupidity made her want to snort. She saw right through their semblances—probably more than they knew.
"Hey Rae, how's it—?" Beast Boy began to inquire half-heartedly as she approached.
"Save it," Raven barked, shuffling to the couch.
She plopped onto the cushions with a grunt. Being on her feet was murder. Her entire back stung and throbbed uncomfortably.
"What's with you?" Cyborg challenged.
"Besides the fact that I got karate-chopped in the neck by one of my best friends?" she retorted with her infamous scowl.
"Oh…right…"
She rolled her violet eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, concentrating. The others fell into an awkward hush, but their vibrant sentiments were not as silent. They eagerly awaited her findings.
As she meditated, she grew more and more confident of what she had garnered from Robin. Yes, she was positive now.
"Rae, I'm dyin' over here," Beast Boy finally chirped.
His shrill voice pierced through her attempts at contemplation. She sighed. Patience was a virtue Beast Boy did not have.
"Ok, look," she started, opening her eyes. "I wasn't able to get a complete read on Robin…"
"Oh c'mon—!"
"—but," she continued over Garfield's complaint. "What I sensed should be enough to give us an idea of what we're going up against."
"I know exactly what we're goin' up against," Cyborg grumbled. "Slade. Pure and simple."
"Robin is not Slade!" Starfire cried from beside the couch. "How can you even contemplate such treachery?!"
"He's a criminal, Star. And he's workin' for Slade."
"He is our friend! He needs our help!"
"Why are you defending him?" Beast Boy chimed in. "He tried to kill you and Raven!"
"No, he didn't."
Raven's monotone cut through their bickering.
"Are you nuts?!" Beast Boy cried, turning his attention to her. "I saw him! He shot Star with that laser-gun-thingy! The only reason she's alive is 'cause she's an alien. Er, no offense..."
"I'm not so sure," Raven mused, furrowing her brow. "I was in his head when he did it, and I think he knew she wouldn't be hurt...not permanently, anyway. And he wasn't trying to kill me. He was just trying to sever the mind-link."
Beast Boy snorted.
"Fine, he didn't add 'murder' to the list…whoop-dee-doo. We still gotta take him down."
"Maybe," she conceded, wincing at the idea. "But I don't think that's the right move."
"Why?" Cyborg growled. "We tried talkin' to him. We gave him every opportunity and you know what he does? He attacks. We tried to help him and he tries to kill us. That's what he thinks of us now. End of story. The Robin we knew is gone and the Teen Titans have to take him down."
Starfire made a snarl of objection. Raven held up her hand.
"The reason he didn't talk to us is because he couldn't," she explained. "I don't know why, but I sensed…"
She paused, trying to formulate the words.
"What is it?" Starfire asked in a hushed voice, crouching intently in front of Raven.
Her emerald eyes were wide, vulnerable.
"He was almost…protective," Raven said. "Like he was trying to save us instead of the other way around."
Disbelief was clear on Cyborg's face.
"That's crazy. You must have, I don't know, sensed wrong."
"Which one of us is the Empath?" Raven snapped, angered by his overt doubt. "I know what I sensed. And the more I think about it, the more it fits. I mean, why would Robin join Slade?"
"Uh, Rae, Red-X ring any bells?!" Beast Boy squeaked.
"But he became Red-X to catch Slade, not to join him," she corrected. "Think about it. Robin was obsessed with stopping Slade. And Slade knew it. The Chronoton Detonator was a ploy to get us away from Robin…and we fell for it."
"What are you sayin'?" Beast Boy asked with a raised emerald brow. "That Slade is mind-controlling Robin?"
"If that was the case, I would have sensed it," Raven replied sadly. "That was our Robin on that rooftop. But, I do think that Slade is controlling him through other means. I just don't know how or why."
"He was pretty banged up…" the changeling recalled, his elfin features screwed up cutely. "Do you think Slade is—?"
"I can't believe you guys!" Cyborg bellowed, cutting in. "All of you are overlookin' the fact that Robin is one robbery away from creating a weapon of mass destruction!"
Now it was Raven's turn to be surprised. She felt the color drain from her cheeks.
"What?"
Ace in the hole, Cyborg looked positively smug as he flipped around to face the computer.
"After his last theft, I compiled all the data we had on Slade's past crimes and tried to decipher a behavioral pattern so that we could predict where Robin might strike next."
He jabbed a few keys with a flourish of his mechanical fingers—a maestro at the piano. A flurry of images flew across the screen—pictures of impressive skyscrapers, of top secret blueprints, of Slade's unnerving metal mask…
Cyborg finally landed on a world map. Each location that Slade committed a felony at, or associated with, was marked.
The villain had been busy. There were at least two hundred bright green spots staring back at the Titans, stretching from the West to the East coast of the United States, from the tip of the Arctic Circle to the bottom of South America, all along the coasts of Africa, up the Mediterranean Sea, into the European continent, and across the Pacific to Tokyo, Beijing, and Bangladesh.
"All these places…?" Beast Boy asked in a dazed voice.
Just how deep did Slade's evil run?
Cyborg smashed a few more keys and the dots began to disappear.
"I found the link," he explained. "He was searching for a device to harness nuclear power."
"The thermal blaster…"
"And do you know what he stole last night?"
Raven closed her eyes, defeated.
"Plutonium."